


Tails and Tails Again

by keire_ke



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Indecent Proposal AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 20:30:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6872338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keire_ke/pseuds/keire_ke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Indecent Proposal AU, written for a kink meme prompt.</p>
<p>Alexander Pierce enjoys the finer things in life: yachting, champagne, morally myopic sexual encounters and surrealist art. And as luck would have it, he can afford all of them at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tails and Tails Again

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to Elinimate for giving this a read-through! Thank you darling!

Alexander and chance are old friends. Oh, he is a hard, diligent worker, a genius many would say. He worked for everything he gained, he dutifully re-invested his gains and watched the investments grow, and yet he knows that his wholesome, successful life was a string of lucky coincidences. One does not land on top without a nod from destiny. He didn't see the recession coming, for instance, and the fact that he didn't lose money on it was entirely due to that one afternoon in 1999, when Schmidt was late to a meeting due to traffic and Nick, having had one more glass of wine that he usually would, pitched his business venture idea. It stuck. So much so that when Schmidt finally arrived and Nick excused himself, Alexander could think of little else and let Schmidt's very attractive proposition fall by the wayside.

It didn't seem like the day would come back to haunt him, until 2008 when Schmidt and everyone who backed him famously went down, chased by allegations of money laundering and international terrorism. God only knows what it would take to get out of those charges. Schmidt has yet to figure it out, that's for sure. Alexander emptied many a tumbler of whiskey to celebrate having avoided that train wreck, fully aware that he owed it entirely to the guiding hand of fate.

Everything happens for a reason, after all.

And this is what happens now; a waitress stumbles on an imperfection of the carpeting, spilling champagne on the sleeve of his jacket and the floor. Alexander rises from his seat gracefully, hands the poor girl a handful of napkins from the table, and excuses himself, heading for the restroom. That's how he meets him. Well, them, technically, but the husband is little but convenient leverage.

"We're gonna be okay, Stevie, we will figure it out, it's just money," is the first thing Alexander hears coming out of his mouth, and well. It's no exaggeration to say he knows, in that moment, that he will hear much, much more.

He stops in his tracks and turns away, lets the restroom door close. There is a convenient painting in the hall, not one of the museum's finest offerings, but not without its merit. Alexander stops there and watches, out of the corner of his eye, as he exits the restroom, the boyfriend – husband, possibly, given the pale golden ring on his finger – in tow.

His name is James Barnes, Alexander learns later on. He's exquisite. Handsome, of course; bright-eyed, dark-haired, tall, well-groomed. His suit is not expensive, but it is tailored to his body, and his shoes are a timeless, carefully maintained, fashion classics. None of those things is what engenders the mad thirst in Alexander's soul. It's the way he looks at his husband that does it. The vulnerable yet confident look of a man who loves too much and lost too little, tempered by the fierce flame of protectiveness and smoky anxiousness: that's what draws him in. That, and the desperation of a man who lives to protect being denied the chance in the face of a very real danger.

Alexander bides his time, short as it may be, rinses the sleeve of his suit, returns to his table and bumps into the couple later the next day. They talk. They smile, despite their dire pecuniary circumstances.

And then, when they are on the cusp of leaving, no doubt to ponder their misfortune, Alexander makes his offer. He smiles at the predictable outrage, at the fire in the husband's eyes, the vehement accusations and insults. He looks at him instead, at James, who is silent and still, and he knows that before the week is over he will have him. He knows.

The negotiations are a formality. Alexander hardly needs the intel on the medical bills and student loans to know they will cave. Their situation is not an easy one, and he is generous: a million of American dollars is a good offer for a single night. Alexander is not privy to the fight, but does he need to be? It's obvious in the way the husband grips James' hand, the way he glares at him across the mahogany table, the way he says "Mr. Pierce, please don't think for a second there is a law on this planet I wouldn't violate to get to you if you hurt Bucky in any way, no matter how small. No money is worth that."

The irony is, quite possibly, the most orgasmic sensation Alexander has experienced in a long, long time. "I assure you, I have no intention of hurting you," he tells James, mildly amused to see the husband recoil in both affront and resentful respect. He's not a hard man to read. "I've taken the liberty of preparing a contract. Take your time, don't settle for what you feel is beyond you."

He leaves the room with an encouraging smile, though both men carefully ignore the papers in front of them. Yet he is not in the least surprised when they call him back, less than an hour later. The contract is barely two pages long, most of which is legalese, and quite explicit. Only such sexual acts as both parties consent to, and not a touch more. The sole hook being, naturally, that Mr. Barnes is entitled to the full sum should he consent to a sex act that results in mutual orgasm. But that's just common sense. Alexander is not a young man, and he likes to get his money's worth.

Alexander takes some pleasure in watching James sign the dotted line, and then slide the contract to him. There's no space for the husband's signature, a fact that no doubt only fans the flames of anger, both the righteous and the self-flagellating. The world spins, but people or relationships don't really change, genders of those involved notwithstanding. Alexander signs his end with a flourish and stands to shake James' hand over the table.

"I will pick you up tomorrow at four," he says, carefully separates the two copies of the contract and hands one over. "Good day to you both."

***

He shows off, naturally. There is a limousine, from which he watches in amusement as the husband pull James down for a thorough, possessive kiss. There is champagne, a bespoke suit (it pays to have a gentleman burglar on the retainer), private plane and finally a gleaming, state of the art white yacht. Alexander dismisses the staff and takes her out, to a secluded bay, where he drops the anchor and sets the table in the cockpit with white cloth and silver utensils. The timing has worked out perfectly: the oven timer rings just as the evening breeze settles and the salmon inside is cooked to perfection. James is suitably impressed, though not too impressed to lift a skeptical eyebrow at the finery.

"Seems like overkill," he remarks between bites of salmon. "I appreciate it, don't get me wrong, but it's not… well, not what I was expecting." His posture is relaxed now, partially due to the alcohol – just enough to loosen limbs, not enough to loosen tongues – and partially, of that Alexander has no doubt, due to James' inborn confidence.

"My dear boy, I make a habit of treating even my business partners to lunch."

"No offence, in that case, but I think you are getting robbed in broad daylight."

"That is a matter of perspective."

James tips his flute carefully. "Look—"

"No, James," Alexander tells him kindly. "Trust me, not even I can afford what I think you should be charging for a night, and I am considerably wealthy."

"I don't typically charge."

"I don't typically pay."

James looks away for a moment. "Yeah," he says eventually, with great effort. "I see how that could be fun." His thumb presses against his wedding band, strokes its side, and then his palms are both on the table. He meets Alexander's eyes, holding his gaze evenly, and Alexander feels the stroke of heat along his spine.

"I knew you'd see my point of view." He refills their glasses and stands to fetch the desert from the fridge. When he returns James is standing by the railing, bathed in the moonlight. The candlelight, shimmering in the gentle breeze, does not reach him. "Tell you what," Alexander says, as he sets the tiramisu on the table. "We'll toss a coin. If it lands on heads, I will rescind my end of the bargain and fly you home. The money will be in your account tomorrow."

"And if it's tails?"

"Then, of course, I get to have you."

"You're willing to bet what, over a million dollars on a coin-toss? Doesn't strike me like a sound business strategy."

"Ah, but this isn't business, this is pleasure," Alexander says easily. "Gambling is a successful vice for a reason."

James stares at him, and a small smirk makes it onto his face. "Sure. Let's gamble."

It takes a moment to locate a coin in a spare pair of jeans. Alexander brings it to the deck. "A kiss for luck?"

James laughs, and it's a bright, hearty sound. There is a faint hitch in it, a ringing dissonance: a small sob that spills over the entire melody and dominates it. It's a thing of beauty, Alexander thinks, as James leans forward and presses their lips together. He is an honorable man, no question about that. Alexander doubts this is how he kisses his husband, but nonetheless the kiss is good, passionate and moist. He suspects he didn't really need the Viagra, not that he will let it go to waste.

Alexander lets the coin fly, catches it and slaps it onto the back of his hand. "Tails," he says easily.

It is.

James closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again he is calm, charming and smiling like his life depends on it. "Well then. I'm all yours."

It feels like a victory, which, in a way, it is. Alexander pulls him closer by the silk tie, takes his mouth in a gentle, but firm kiss. James is young, young enough to lose himself in it. His husband probably wasn't his first, but there likely hasn't been anyone else in a while, and even good marital sex gets boring. Being wooed by an elderly millionaire must be a thrill next to a life with a sickly boy. Sure enough, James is dazed when Alexander pulls back, surprised to see his tie undone and his shirt unbuttoned.

"Undress," Alexander says, adding "please" after a short pause. He steps back to the table, refills his champagne glass and watches the fine wools and silks slide off of James' skin, until he stands naked on the deck, his pale body glowing in the moonlight. He was right, entirely. James is an exquisite creature. Alexander lets his gaze drag over his skin, the gradient of color spanning from his ankles to his thighs, evidence of days spent on the beach, over his semi-erect cock – and isn't that flattering – up his chest and to his soft lips.

There's no rush. Alexander fills the second glass from the fresh champagne bottle, the one that hasn't been slowly warming up as they ate, and hands it to James, who is still standing in the same spot, swaying gently as the yacht bobs on the waves. This is his first time on the water, Alexander has asked, yet his balance is impeccable; his hips undulate as the water rises and falls, anticipating the ebb and flow. It's quite fascinating to watch. "Would you be amenable to oral sex?" Alexander asks, his voice betraying nothing by mild curiosity.

James hesitates for a second, then nods. He drains his glass and sinks to his knees, his hands coming up to where Viagra it's doing its job. He rolls the proffered condom down Alexander's cock and takes it into his mouth without a sound.

Well. Alexander will happily admit that mouth alone is worth the million and change he will have spent on his night, and it isn't even the main event. He cards his fingers through James' dark hair and breathes, breathes carefully. He's good. Perfect. He responds to the faint tremors and gentle nudges, doesn't withdraw when Alexander's hips stutter forward but takes him deeper.

He needs to be really careful, Alexander thinks through a pleased haze. Normally he has no issues staying in control, and he won't now either, but there's something about this man that makes him want to give it up. Patience, he rebukes himself, placing his hands on James' face, halting his movements and holding still, counting his breaths. Patience. Very slowly he presses forward, until the first hints of resistance, and then withdraws, equally slow, drinking in the sight, drinking in this glorious creature kneeling before him, his mouth stretched over his cock, his pale eyes glowing white with moonlight.

James breathes around him and, when Alexander finally steps back, exhales deeply.

"Come inside," Alexander says, and descends into the cabin, heading straight for the bedroom. This being a yacht, there's not much to recommend it: the entire space is taken by the bed. Luckily, the space is not much smaller than a king-sized bed.

"I like the design." James traces the industrial patterns lining the walls as he stands in the door and shudders. "Very… Gigeresque."

"You're an artist?"

"Steve is," James answers, and smiles softly, looking at Alexander through half-lidded eyes. "I just like  _ Alien _ ."

Alexander smiles back, and gestures to the mattress. "Make yourself comfortable. More champagne?"

"Actually—"

"Whisky?"

"That would be great, thanks."

Alexander comes back to a sight. James is laid out on the pristine sheets, nude and comfortable, the fingertips of his right hand skimming his erection, while the left is tucked under his head. "Don't let me interrupt you," Alexander says, when the hand stills.

James flushes, which is quite endearing, and sits up against the hull. He reaches for the tumbler with his left and resumes the feather-light touches in his lap. His breathing speeds up even as he lifts the glass to his lips and takes a sip, and there's a sight Alexander can't resist. He takes the lubricant from its shelf, crawls onto the mattress and gently pushes James' knees apart. "May I?"

For a second James stares at him like a cornered deer; the muscles in his thighs flex as he swallows. Alexander waits patiently, and at long last James relaxes: he moves his feet out and lets his knees fall open. He slides down the wall, low enough that his chin is nearly touching his chest, and very quietly says "Yes." He shivers at the first touch, and his hands fall to his sides, curling in the sheets. The arousal heats his skin, lends an attractive flush to his cheeks and a shine to his eyes. His breathing becomes shallow, whistling, textured. It feels like velvet on Alexander's skin, even from a distance. When Alexander finally breaches him, one finger at a time, James lets out a strangled cry of ecstasy.

Glorious creature, Alexander thinks again, rolling a fresh condom onto his cock and sinking into James' body. That husband of his must not do that very often, he thinks, because James  _ mewls _ at the first brush against his prostate, arches his back and claws at the sheets. Good. Alexander moves slowly, barely rocking his hips, waiting for James to look directly at him, into his eyes. Then he surges forward, claims his lips and pushes all the way in, drawing James' knees around his waist, until he has the angle right, until James is crying out into his mouth.

James comes virtually untouched, all his grace and confidence collapsing, until he is soft and pliant under Alexander's hands, around his cock.

Alexander takes his time after that. James is spent and sleepy, and eager to please, so it's no effort at all to turn him onto his stomach, until he is propped on his elbows and knees. Alexander runs his hands up his flanks, over his shoulders and into his hair, bends to lick at the hollow between his shoulder blades. James shivers and sighs when Alexander presses his cock into him again and fucks him in earnest. He fucks James until his cock is getting hard again, against its better judgement. Alexander wrings a second orgasm out of the man until he allows himself to come as well. It is no exaggeration to say he sees stars when he finally does.

He pulls out carefully, pressing kisses along James' spine, and goes to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and change out of his soiled clothes. When he returns James is asleep, curled up on top of the covers. He shudders when a hand is run along his thigh, but doesn't wake. Good. Alexander wipes the sweat and come off his skin, covers him with a cotton sheet, returns the tumbler of whisky to the kitchenette and goes back outside.

They didn't quite finish the first bottle of champagne, good. If there ever was a night which deserved a toast, it was this one. Alexander sits in the cockpit and stares out at the waters. James would sleep until morning, easily. He can afford to catch his breath before he goes back into the cabin. There is still so much work to do, and the dawn can't be staved off, but for now Alexander is content to sit beneath the stars with a glass of fine champagne in his hand and think of the sweet prize currently sleeping in his cabin.

"Money well spent," he tells himself and smiles. He finishes the glass and makes his way to the on-board computer. It comes to life with a faint hiss, and the greenish screen resolves into a pixelated picture of a bald, bespectacled man.

"Arnim," Alexander says, flipping the coin between his fingers. Tails and tails again. Chance is a marvelous thing indeed. "Time for phase two."

THE END


End file.
